Late morning and I'm half-dressed:
Socks, panties, and a wrinkled suitcoat.
I'm a barefoot Bette Davis; Tom Waits
with a handbag. A mustachioed
Scarlett O'Hara or a wan Ashley Wilkes
with his pockets hanging out. Lighting
another cigarette I send up smoke-flags,
speaking a semaphore of hatred. It's
as natural as breathing. Despair in; rage out.
If I got fucked, it's because I was
standing there with my pants down.
copyright 23 March 1997 by jewel (Julieann M. Brown-Micko)
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